


but fuck all your plans i’m bored

by ElasticElla, kimaracretak



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Background Kendall Roy/Rava Roy, F/F, Infidelity, Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: "Then what?" Rava goads her, can't take another minute of Shiv standing off to the side watching silently, inching forward all too slowly.A cruel smile unfolds on her lips, "Then me."
Relationships: Rava Roy/Siobhan "Shiv" Roy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside), When Death Loves Flamingos





	but fuck all your plans i’m bored

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ba_lailah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ba_lailah/gifts).



> I’m the paper cut that kills you  
> I’m the priest that you ignored  
> I’m the touch you crave, I’m the plans that you made,  
>  _But fuck all your plans I’m bored_  
>  \- '[That Unwanted Animal](https://theamazingdevil.bandcamp.com/track/that-unwanted-animal)', The Amazing Devil
> 
> SURPRISE, happy belated treat crime!

Kendall misses picking up the kids from school, again. It wouldn't be so annoying if he didn't have a herd of secretaries at his beck and call, if Rava didn't have to leave work early to get them. Again. 

If there wasn't fucking traffic, she would have made it on time, and all the what-ifs are piling up, and she wants to scream. 

That’s what makes it worse, maybe, when she gets to the gates and there’s a shock of red hair waiting already. As if she hasn’t been with the family long enough that they can trust her with the most basic familial - or _human_ , really - decency … though when the last time a Roy had demonstrated that, well, she can’t say. (Allegedly back in the nineteen hundreds, Ken always liked to brag about his great-great-whatever that helped save some slaves. As if a Roy would act so selflessly.)

"What are you doing here?" Rava snaps. Has long learned to dispose of greetings with them.

Shiv doesn't roll her eyes, but it's a near thing, her annoyance clear. "I sent the children with Sharon-"

"God forbid they missed a minute of piano and I got to see them this afternoon." 

"Try picking them up on time," Shiv says with a shrug. 

"Maybe if your brother showed up, like he was supposed to-" 

"My brother is an addict, you know that better than most." 

Rava exhales deeply, because of-fucking-course nothing is ever Kendall's fault. No matter what his therapist told them about the importance of routine and regularity for the children's development and Ken’s eventual recovery. Any missteps are because he's an addict, and the rare times he's there for his own damn kids, that's the 'real' Kendall. 

Rava wants to know what's so fucking special about coke that it's worth all this mess. Then again, with all the money they have, it's never a mess, just a misstep. 

"So no one sees the kids, is that it? Happy now?"

Shiv snorts, "You say that like we weren't all raised by butlers and underage maids." 

"Well, _we_ weren't. And it turned out so well for you." 

Shiv's lips purse, because of herself or Ken, she couldn't say. (Herself right? It's always the self with the Roys.)

"Look, I'm- thanks for making sure the kids got to their lessons today." It almost sounds sincere, god she's been around this damned family for too long. 

Shiv doesn't blink at the non-apology, and her eyes look almost alien in this light, her lashes near invisible. "We should get a drink." 

"...what." Rava knows better than to leave something like that unanswered, but, questionably safe topic of the children abandoned, she’s at a loss for what, exactly, to say.

Shiv throws her shoulders back, digs in. "I've had a day. You've _obviously_ had a day, I've never seen you so uncouth. Vodka will make it better." 

_Sounds like a you problem_ , Rava thinks, and she wants to groan. "You sound like my husband." 

It's worth saying it for how Shiv's face instantly crumples up. "Ew." 

Something about that look on her - like she’s trying to make herself a whole new person, just with one sound - has Rava reconsidering. "Maybe that’s a good thing," she says. “Maybe,” and she can’t quite believe the words coming out of her mouth, isn’t sure Shiv believes them, but she can’t stop, "Maybe I should find out more about this part of him." _Of you_. "Where would you take me?"

Rava is expecting the name of some ridiculously expensive underground bar. The kind of place with multiple doormen, drinks that cost more than she makes an hour, and decor that's treading the line between vintage and gaudy. Somewhere Ken would have taken her back in their pseudo glory days to try and impress her. 

"My place, of course." 

Rava only says _yes_ because Shiv has finally managed to surprise her.

.

The last time Rava was in Shiv's place, it was nearly empty. She was hosting one of the non-optional family lunches, and clearly did not want to play hostess. Bare walls that looked less minimalist and more broke college student, and Rava is sure there's a story behind the whole thing. 

A story that she isn't curious about. She's here to learn more about her husband, and the newly personalised aspects of Shiv’s flat - the modern art that is expensive but who the fuck knows if it's good, the polaroids that are a little _too_ well framed to be casual - aren’t things that will be lingering behind her eyelids every time she blinks for the next week.

They’re _not_.

"You have gin?" Rava asks before Shiv can try offering some fancy cocktail that takes staff to make. 

"On the rocks?" Shiv asks, as though she were a fresh twenty-one year old that somehow didn't know what liquor tastes like. "Alcohol's in the cupboard," she adds, waving a hand, and that answers if there's anyone else hanging around the place. (Not that she was thinking about it.) 

Rava backs up against the counter, raising an eyebrow. "And?" she says. "You invited me."

"Oh, she’s learning," Shiv says, indulgence in every lazy movement as she gets the bottle out and pours two glasses. "But what shall we toast to?" Shiv passes the glass over the island, warmth grazing her fingers like a threat.

It's a test, not even a subtle one, and Rava is so done, wants to down the glass at once. 

"To our children," she says. If Shiv can play outsiders with the third-person plural, so can she.

Something flickers over Shiv's face too quickly to comprehend, glasses clinking together loudly. "To the children," Shiv echoes, and Rava takes a larger gulp. She's going to need it.

.

"This isn't going to help y'know," Shiv confesses, like a secret after the second glass. It tastes better than the first, and even after all those years with Kendall ordering her allegedly superior booze, she can't tell the difference beyond the broad strokes. 

"Hmm?" 

"Ken-doll is an _addict_. You need something stronger than this." 

"I'm not doing designer drugs with my sister-in-law." 

Shiv barks out a laugh, "Yeah, I have work tomorrow. Not what I meant." 

Rava blinks, polishing off her glass and waiting. Shiv is silent for once, and Rava could slap her. Every single damn Roy gets off to the sound of their own voice- until the very moment you want to hear it. 

"Well? What then?" 

"Not all the Roys are so crass. I have something else to show you."

Rava follows Shiv, follows her more than her head is telling her to, up the stairs and around the bend. Shiv's bedroom - Shiv and _Tom's_ bedroom, not that you could tell he existed by looking - is movie-set stale, already prepared for the inevitable fawning biopic.

Rava is ready for Shiv to pull out some exorbitantly expensive drugs, regardless of what the woman claimed before. (If she's learned one thing with the Roys and their estimation of truth--) But Shiv grabs a decorative knife off the wall instead, and her curiosity is unfortunately piqued. 

"What," Shiv says, flat as the look in her eyes. "I only lie about the important shit." But there's something under there - something she’s masking, and Rava wants to pull at the edges that Shiv's daring to show her.

"Uh huh, then what do I do next?"

"You lie on the bed." 

Bluff or dare, Rava can't be certain, but she takes it. Sits, at first, fingers on the buttons of the shirt that she doesn’t trust Shiv not to cut from her body. Unlike some people, she remembers what a limited budget is, wants a reason for the ruin.

Shiv's eyes follow her legs as she swings them against the duvet, linger on her calves, and, yeah, Rava's always known she has nice legs but it's been too long since someone appreciated them. 

But Shiv's lips tell a different story: "I said to _lie_ on the bed."

It's tempting to draw the charade out longer, as if there were any question where this was going to end up. (She knew where the stairs led.) But that damned curiosity comes back, glistening on the edge of Shiv's blade, and Rava finds herself swinging her legs onto the bed, shoes still on - there’s no point to this if she can’t push back, see where Shiv bends - or if she breaks.

Her first thought is she has become corpse-like, ridiculous truly, but then with Shiv's approaching knife and she's playing possum, lying in wait. Each breath feels dramatic, and her fingers tingle, shoved under herself. 

"Then what?" Rava goads her, can't take another minute of Shiv standing off to the side watching silently, inching forward all too slowly. 

A cruel smile unfolds on her lips, "Then me."

Shiv steps in, so much closer than she realized, at the edge of the bed instantly. It's all happening too fast, a warm hand on her shoulder, a cold blade on her thigh. 

And maybe, no definitely, she should stop this. It isn't like she _trusts_ Shiv. Get up or scream out or--

But she doesn’t. Even as the metal bites into her skin, so sharp that it’s cold more than it’s painful, she doesn’t make a sound, and now she’s going to have to live with that: that she let Siobhan Roy cut her, and didn’t even scream. (God, what would Kendall say? What would any fucking rational person say?)

"Eyes on me," Shiv says, like she can hear Rava’s thoughts - or maybe she just wants the attention, to devour Rava with her eyes just as much as with her mouth or her knife.

Her eyes flick up, and fuck, it's like every fantasy of Ken's that she devoutly refused to do, like every stupid fucking dream, all at once. 

"Good girl," Shiv murmurs, and the knife cuts the opposite side. Matching marks, she thinks, probably hysterical - that's the only reasonable deduction, right? And then she wonders why she’s trying to apply _reason_ to _Shiv_ , to _this_ \--

Especially because the pain is sweeter this time, more apparent for she's already used to the touch. 

Hysterical or lucid, the thought spills from her mouth, "I don't feel any higher." 

"Oh baby," Shiv says, and it sounds all wrong, "we've only begun. Patience and virtue and all that jazz."

"As if you belie-" Rava's words are cut off when the knife slips deeper, feels like it's filleting her thigh. "You’re getting blood on the sheets." She assumes, at least - the sensation of being split open is still searing through her, blocking out anything else, the blood on her thigh, Shiv's hand holding her skirt bunched up at her waist. (Her mind feels hazy, it makes sense, but _when_ did Shiv's hand slide up her skirt?)

"Oh honey, my brother really didn't treat you at all. Still worrying over the cost of linens," Shiv tsks, and the knife drags higher. "I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t want your blood in my bed."

It's a terrifying truth that Rava has known for some time: Shiv does only what she wants, always has, and it’s a newly awful thing in every sense of the word, Rava thinks, to be _wanted_ by a Roy. (How did she ever confuse being needed with being wanted?) 

"Much more, and the maids will ask questions," Rava says, and while she feels distant from her body, she isn't distant enough not to question how much blood has been shed. It isn't enough blood to knock her unconscious, clearly, but how much more would it take? (There's a dark corner of her mind that wants to know, wants to pinpoint the moment.)

Shiv blinks. "God, you really think every house is my brother’s." She digs the knife in harder, punishing, and Rava flinches back from it for the first time. "We’re not all so helpless."

It's like a chord has been struck, and Shiv moves the knife higher, high enough to catch her breath and panties. 

"Trust me?" she taunts. 

"Enough," Rava says, hoping it sounds more truthful than a denial. It doesn't, but the longer she lets this go on, the less sure she is that it is true. That it matters. (Truth is relative right? She must have learned something from Kendall's hundred terrible downloaded podcasts.)

"I don't believe you," Shiv says, and the knife snaps under the elastic, ripping her underwear in one fell swipe. 

Rava licks her lips, feels far too dry, "What would change your mind? You Roys are so..." 

"Oh, sorry," Shiv says, and Rava’s whole body tenses up at how the word sounds in her mouth, foreign and flat and _wrong_ , like she definitely doesn’t mean it and wants Rava to know. "I didn’t know you needed your hand held."

Rava bristles, "Get on with it." 

Shiv's smile is sickly sweet as she flips the knife around in a motion that must be practiced. The hilt of the knife presses up against her vulva, and Shiv is still standing, standing for fuck's sake, next to her, as if this is a regular occurance in the Roy household.

"Relax," Shiv says, as if, now that the stinging across her thighs has died down, they can’t both feel that she’s wet enough that the word can only be mocking her. 

Logically, Rava knows the knife hilt is smaller than the average man's penis. Smaller than Kendall's dick to get specific. Way smaller than the children that have exited her. And yet, when the knife hilt presses in, deceptively slow, it feels larger than them all combined. There's no give to the wood, the hilt a blunt, curved thing that parts her lips and fills her up - and doesn’t feel half as good as the blade piercing her skin had. 

Shiv thrusts the knife deeper, shoves the breath out her lungs if nothing else. Her knuckles knock up against her, must be bloody, sticky, from her thighs. 

"Twisted thing," Shiv taunts, as though she knows her mind. "Does Ken know what kind of sex toys you need to get off? Does he even know how rarely he gets you off?"

It’s a guess on Shiv’s part, has to be, and while Rava doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of an answer, her body does for her, clenching and shivering around the knife as if she could pull it deeper inside and take Shiv’s hand with it by sheer force of will.

"Has he _ever_?" Shiv whispers, leans in, hot breath accusatory against her earlobe. 

And Rava isn't answering that, doesn't care if Shiv offers all the damn orgasms in the world. There's pride at stake and - fuck. Her marriage, they're separated but still, her marriage should hold more weight than that. 

"It's okay," Shiv cooes, standing up straight, fingers tapping against her vulva as she begins to thrust the hilt in and out slowly. "I know. I'll be better." 

And the competition's the point for her, of course it is, and it's not that Rava's not used to being a pawn between Ken and his various family members, but the sheer _presumption_ in Shiv’s voice makes her want to hold back out of sheer spite, no matter what Shiv delivers.

Shiv circles the bed, eyes predatory, touch all business as she situates herself between her thighs. "I know you, Rava," she murmurs, and it should be impossible for those words to sound so cruel. "You’ve told me more today than I think you’ve told Kendall in years." 

The accusation stings, less from its truth and more because Shiv's twisted tongue is going to work before she can protest any of it. 

It's fucked up to keep comparing Shiv to Kendall. She knows this. But her mind won't stop, especially now that Shiv has dived in face first and is licking her in places she nearly forgot existed. 

Shiv takes a breath, slides two fingers in beside the knife and smirks up at her. "Fuck, you're easy." 

And Rava should leave, absolutely _should_ this time, or at least say something, but then Shiv crooks her fingers just right, and all Rava can blearily wonder is how she got to be so good at this. 

She rocks her hips down, fucking herself harder on Shiv's fingers, and her thighs clench together too tight, catching the knife tip, a perfect counterpoint to the warmth inside her. She can't handle focusing on both sensations at once, overwhelming in how it keeps flickering between the two, faster and faster until they blur together into one hazy feeling of _need_. 

"I think," Shiv says, maddeningly composed as her breath rushes over Rava’s cunt, "I think I don’t need any of this at all. I think you’d come just from me cutting you open, you're that desperate for me to see inside you."

The absolute last thing Rava wants is to orgasm in that moment - anything, _anything_ , would be better - so naturally, her body betrays her. Pleasure burns, from her inner depths to where she's cut open and exposed, heat flaming all over her body. 

Shiv laughs. 

The absolute bitch _laughs_. 

"Oh honey, you're even easier than I thought." She takes the knife out before thrusting it back in, far too fast, and Rava can feel tears forming at the corners of her eyes, the last aftershocks of her orgasm bleeding into pain. "Bet we can get you to come again before Tom comes home." 

It’s not a request, none of this has been, it’s simply another reminder that Rava should stop this. Should get up and go home. Should do something, _anything_ , else.

Her lips feel dry, and how odd to think Shiv hasn't had the decency to kiss her - only that doesn't feel odd at all. She licks them, swallowing before she speaks, "Doubtful." 

She knows it’s a mistake as soon as she says it, knows Shiv will only take it as a challenge.

Shiv rips the knife out of her, feels like an open wound for how her pussy aches, and she brings it up to her lips, an unspoken demand. 

"We'll see."

(She licks the blade. Of-fucking-course she does.)


End file.
